


The Bastard and the Barmaid

by sellertape



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:39:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellertape/pseuds/sellertape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifty words per randomly generated/prompted word on the explosion of attractiveness that is the good ship Harvilligan, from the point of view of a released Adam Milligan as he and a very much alive Jo Harvelle catapult around the United States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bastard and the Barmaid

**Author's Note:**

> Fifty words apiece, save the last. That gets double.
> 
>  
> 
> [Fanmiiiiiiix](http://sellertape.tumblr.com/post/36572530716/harvilligan-the-most-human-colour-1-piazza)

Hello

It’s your hand that grabs mine.  
I didn’t know that then, obviously.  
But I’ve pulled my way out of the earth twice as many times as most hunters might expect to. I know to take any help there is.

You help me sit.  
Press a bottle into my hand.  
Smile.

 

 

Debt

The angel I met at my grave – not you, I wouldn’t call you that, calm down – looked small.  
Kidlike, the way he rubbed the back of his neck and watched us with sorry eyes.  
Know what he said?

‘Apologies for any inconvenience.’

Damn him.  
Now I owe him a soulmate.

 

 

Slippery

It didn’t start like this. Us, hunting.

You were keen to let me live, to get over the yoyo that is my soul, hurtling from paradise to brimstone and back again.  
We'd both seen enough demons.

But who else would? And it’s only fifty miles out.  
We may as well.

 

 

Spring

We’re jumpy in spring.

Blossom falls left right and centre in huge clumps, sounding for all the world like... something.

_shitjobehindyou-_

Death did that to me.  
Life did it to you.  
Not sure which is worse.

I don’t mind so much.  
Not since your reaction became to grab my hand.

 

 

Doctor

I was the one going to medical school.  
I should be able to help when shit like this goes down.  
You shrug it off but Christ you’re pale...  
I was the pre med.  
You’re the one patching yourself up with gauze and alcohol.  
Pass that over, my hands are shaking.

 

 

Fudge

Post-case diner splurge and another surprise from the Harvelle.  
I thought you’d like sweet things.  
Like fudge.  
Like you.  
I should have realised the first time you bounded into a grave and scraped dirt away with your hands that you’re the kind of girl who dips fries in ice cream.

 

 

Kiss

The first time we kissed, we were hammered out of our minds, hopeless romantics that we are.

The second time fared better.

After the most awkward week of any of our cumulative five lives, you decided we were being ridiculous and stopped my mouth arguing.

Pretty effectively, I might add.

 

 

Heresy

You fiddle until you find a station not adverse to REO.

There’s a ritual:  
I groan, you defend Kevin, I smile.  
Then inevitably I start to sing. First quietly, then your voice joins mine and we don’t even stop at guitar solos.

You’ve changed me more than hell ever could.

 

 

School

Physics. Shotgun kickback.  
Needlework. Sewing yourself together through a haze of blood and alcohol.  
Home Economics. Lace everything with salt and holy water.  
Art. Doodling protection sigils like I’m studying for a test.

I guess I am. I pass with my life.  
I’m not that worried.  
You’re a good teacher.

 

 

Covering

We agree early on: no sharing the shower.  
Neither of us were Dean Winchester cases...  
We didn’t come back pristine.  
I can’t decide which is worse, seeing your scars or you seeing mine.

It’s not just our bodies; our minds are in shreds too.  
But shreds fit together pretty well.

 

 

Missed

News reaches us Bobby Singer passed on.  
Or rather, didn’t.

It’s typical of him, you say, through those angry tears only a few people can squeeze out. I had to force you into shotgun to avoid both our bodies smashed on the highway.

Makes me wish I’d talked to him.

 

 

Fundamentalist

We’re not what you’d call fundamentalists.  
Fuck yeah God exists.  
But angels are dicks.  
And hell ain’t forever.  
Stare at black long enough, it becomes grey. Suddenly spawn of Satan are helping you save the world from an archangel.

(Oh yeah and that whole no sex before marriage thing. Bullshit.)

 

 

Teenager

Swapping stories of other lives, before hell swallowed us.  
How cliché we were both already broken.

Daddy issues seem to run in the trade, but ours are more tangled than I had realised.  
You tell me not to apologise; I didn’t own the old man.  
No.  
You’re right.  
I didn’t.

 

 

Consent

You had to ask.

‘Why did you say yes?’  
You’re probably expecting a story of torture, of me buckling under the weight of an archangel’s fury and threats. Of him leaving me no choice.

You wouldn’t expect me to say ‘because he was beautiful.’  
I tell you I don’t know.

 

 

Household

One time you had a high fever and wouldn’t stop talking.  
About Ellen. And how she’d scare the shit out of me just like she does every man.  
And about Ash. How we would be best friends.

I knew you didn’t know what you were saying.  
You used future tense.

 

 

Panic

‘Jo Harvelle. Name and number after the beep.’

'Where are you we were supposed to meet at the motel they haven’t seen you since breakfast you didn’t do something stupid tell me you didn’t go after it on your own damnit Jo I... fucking love you. I’m coming. Stay alive.’

 

 

Chicken

You grin the word over your shoulder, a shining light against the sewer you’re trying to coax me into.  
Another hole.  
I’ve fallen down one of those before.  
It wasn’t fucking Wonderland, Harvelle. Hand the torch over before I take it.  
You’d like to see me try.  
Challenge accepted sweetheart.

 

 

Home

‘What makes a place home?’  
‘Can I just-'  
‘No, tell me now.’  
‘What are you, ten?’  
‘Well?’  
‘Uh... Mom’s baking.’  
‘Mommy’s boy huh? Mine would beat that out of you.’  
‘What about you?’  
‘A cellar full of liquor and a dukebox in the corner.’  
‘Sounds like heaven.’  
‘It was mine.’

 

 

Doom

By Christ I love the Bible belt.  
Everyone’s so funny.

‘Do you think we should tell them they slept through it?’ you ask as we drive by yet another board screaming that THE END IS NIGH.  
‘Let’s not squash their dreams,’ I say, ‘they need something to look forward to.’

 

 

Cathedral

It’s not him. Of course not.  
But when you move through the old benches and the filtered sun stains your face and hair, I look up. I recognise him instantly. It’s nothing like him, not really. Except the expression. I’d know that self-righteous look anywhere, even on glass.

Hello, Michael.

 

 

Bubblegum

Oh honey, you are wasted on the FBI.  
Denim shorts. Sponge in hand. Bubblegum. It’s scary how well you fit in with the girls here.

Scarier than the ghost hanging around anyway.  
Can’t blame the guy though.  
If I’d died in a car wash my spirit would be restless too.

 

 

Balloon

Red-eyes must be branching out.

Clever when you think about it; birthday parties must be great places to coax deals. Blowing out the candles is probably in the process of becoming a binding contract.

It was an easy job, once we’d stopped laughing.

Helium works on demons too. Who knew?

 

 

Offspring

Kids think you’re a princess. A princess that fights monsters. That girl we saved from the thing that used to be her uncle told you she wanted to be you when she grew up.  
You cried for hours.

The little shits kick me in the shins.

Let’s never have children.

 

 

Epidemic

2014\. Happy New Year, sweetheart.  
Raise a glass, but not too much. We have to be ready to run.

_“We’ll always end up... here.”_

It’s already started down south, but no one listens to Doomsdayers. Wait til it hits New York.

We’re not waiting.  
We’re tearing the highway in half.

 

 

Promise

‘I love you.’  
‘Sounds like a goodbye, Milligan, you gotta promise me it’s not.’  
‘There’s... a lot... I want to promise, Harvelle.’  
‘Tell me.’  
‘...can’t.’  
‘I’d rather hear them broken than not at all.’  
‘We’re going to stop. We’ll live in a h-house with a c-coffee table and a dishwasher. Don’t cry. We’ll have... b-barbeques and what looks like an ordinary life... but it’ll be so extraordinary because we stopped, Jo, we got out, and it’ll be a f-freaking miracle.’  
‘Can we get a dog?’  
‘I love you.’  
‘No, don’t you dare don’t you do this to me... Adam? Adam!’


End file.
